Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,12
heard they think you murdered her. Anger festers and grows. Do you think that’s what causing these problems?”
“Aye, they claimed I murdered her,” Talorc agreed, “but that was grief speaking and too long ago to still be fighting over.”
“She died in childbirth.” Fiona remembered. “That’s no uncommon thing.”
The weary rustle of his breath shuddered through the room. “She was a wee thing, my Anabel.” A petite lass who tended towards floral soap for man and woman alike. With her gone, the soap of his keep smelled of lye and fat. A man needed a wife for such things.
“If I failed to get her with child, the union would have been for naught. If I did get her with child, well then, what happened could happen. I lost Anabel to the birthing. It was that desperate, we were, that we didn’t want to lose the babe as well so I cut her open.”
“That’s not so strange. We’ve done the same.” Fiona encouraged.
“The Gunns claimed I tried to take it from the mother while she was fit and fine and waiting for the pains. But I don’t believe that’s the thorn that’s causing our problems. I think we have a canker of another sort. I just can’t fathom what it is.”
Both men sat, frowning as they held their own counsel. Fiona moved over to Talorc, eased him forward to wash his back, “Your late wife, Anabel, did you love her?” She asked, as she’d lulled him to peace.
“Loved her?” Talorc scowled.
Feargus sputtered and barked. “Don’t be ridiculous woman, everyone knows The MacKay married for his clan, not for foolish notions of love.”
“No,” Talorc argued, “women wish to know these things, although in truth, I don’t know.” He admitted, adding, “Holding my wife was like embracing a delicate flower. Your heart swells with the beauty, but you fear you’ll bruise it. No,” he shook his head against the memory. “It would take a stronger lass to win my heart, I’m thinking, one who could meet me on my terms.” He looked over his shoulder at Fiona. “Your Maggie is a strapping lass.”
With one hefty push, Fiona shoved him under.
“I didna’ say anything,” Talorc sputtered as he surfaced, “that you dinna’ know.”
“Oh, aye.” Fiona admitted sweetly.
“Did you dunk me for speaking of your daughter?”
“Why would I do that?” Fiona hedged, adding, “but I was wondering, if it’s true, are you here because of our Maggie?”
“Aye.” Talorc admitted.
The fire crackled, water splashed as he reached for a sheet on a stool by the side of the tub. Standing, he wrapped the long sheet around his waist, used another for drying.
Husband and wife looked to each other. ”You don’t know much of our Maggie if you’ve come for her.” Fiona warned.
“Do you mean that she likes her men puny?” Talorc vigorously rubbed his hair.
“Aye,” They both frowned.
“She’s not meant for a puny lad, you know.” He tossed the extra sheet over his shoulder. “And I’ve a mind to help her understand such things.”
The MacBede stood from his own bath scowling. “How do you mean to do that?”
Talorc pulled a shirt over his head, his words caught in the folds of fabric. “Well, MacBede,” his head popped out of the opening, “with your permission, I’ll marry her. She’ll come to understand in time.”
Fiona shoved a warmed sheet at her husband. “You’ll not get her to understand after the wedding, Laird or no, you force Maggie to marry and she’ll make your life a misery. You’ll never win her that way.”
“I mean to have her agree to the wedding.” Talorc defended.
Fiona laughed.
Talorc argued. “You could help persuade her.”
Feargus slumped on a stool. “It’s more than that, Laird MacKay. You’re a fine man, I couldna’ hope for such a grand husband for my lovely Maggie, but she’s more stubborn than the lot of us. She doesn’t want a warrior.”
“You’re her father. You could make her.”
“Oh, aye, I could force it on her, but my Fiona is right. We won’t send her to the altar in tears, and if she goes against her will, there will be tears aplenty.”
“From a lass such as Maggie?” Talorc was appalled.
MacBede chuckled, “Aye, strapping lass that she is, she’s still a female.”
Fiona ignored the understanding that passed between the men and nodded at her own thoughts. “You know,” she said, “you might make it work, if you could spend some time with her, win her over and then stay away when she says nay to a marriage. She’ll pine for you, then come around.”
“There’s